APRIL 74
This was an angry spring.
Whims of March did not taper to April softness.
No slow spiral of seasons
stemmed the splatter of hailstones.
slow trees held their buds too long
As if afraid for their frail embryos.
Harsh residue of winter, the wind’s cutting
was sharp
slicing the hope of warmth
projected by a spasmodic sun.
Nature in restoring balance
will return her shining solace.